


Always Read the Terms and Conditions

by Sara Generis (kanadka)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: ? in a way?, Dubious Consent, M/M, Underwater Sex, Xeno, Xenolinguistics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 20:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/pseuds/Sara%20Generis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia kept a lot of secrets about the kinds of research he did. Here's one of them he shared with Canada. (Dubcon, tentacles.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Read the Terms and Conditions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirradin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/gifts).



> This was mostly a joke-gift written for the 2013 [Arctic Land Bridge](http://arcticlandbridge.tumblr.com/) exchange on tumblr. I wrote this fic in approximately three hours when I realised that I was not going to have the actual gift ready in time (this being [Thirty Past Midnight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1956171/chapters/4230303), which wasn't finished until _half a year later_ ). [Mirradin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirradin/) had requested zeppelins, I provided tentacles. Sort of similar?

Russia calls Canada over during the Union days, because he’s the one who asked what Russia had been working on and well, Russia’s always been kind of a show off about his mathematics and sciences! _My biologist did this_ and _my chemist did that_ and _did I tell you they won prizes and if it weren’t for politics they’d all be Nobel laureates?_ Canada doesn’t like blowhards, so he told Russia to put up or shut up.

Well, comes the day when Russia manages to invite Canada over for tea and lunch, once _perestroika_ begins and the borders are a bit more relaxed. (A _bit._ Canada is still made to sign countless non-disclosure forms and agreements before he is allowed in. So much red tape!) Russia adds to his invitation that there is an experiment with which he needs an assistant. This flatters Canada into clearing his calendar.

So they tea and lunch and everything is very lovely, when Russia tells him he’ll be right back.

Ten minutes pass by.

Ten minutes then becomes an hour. And Canada’s checking his watch.

He’s due back at the hotel any moment now - for all the rhetoric, nobody in the West truly believes that the Soviet Union is opening or rebuilding anything, and Canada was allowed an unchaperoned visit but his people insisted on a curfew just in case. If he’s very late, they’ll raise an alarm.

But his host, Russia, is nowhere to be found, and it’s rude to simply leave.

Finally Canada says _fuck it_ , gets up and wanders around. That’s also rude. It’s not guestly behaviour for a nation - simply helping oneself to off-limit areas might be considered an act of espionage. If Russia wants to call him on that, he’ll have to find him, because Canada’s got a serious case of a numb ass from sitting too long.

The tea room is a small parlour but it’s attached to a gigantic lab, and each room has different things in it - fumehoods, test tubes, various apparatus setups for what looks like chemistry, an electron microscope, that room over there has a gigantic incubator, that one across from it has a massive computer constructed out of cathode rays. And on the hallway to the stairs, there’s a sign in Russian which Canada can’t exactly read but points up to the observation domes so Canada supposes it says “to telescopes”.

There’s truly nothing this facility doesn’t have.

He keeps walking, further and further, and his travels bring him to a wide open room with an indoor pool. On the other end of the room, far away from Canada, the pool appears to shallow out. Nearest Canada, however, the water is murky and darkens so quickly that he can’t see past a few inches of the pool’s tile. Evidently this is the deep end, but there’s nothing on the pool to indicate how deep it is.

It’s mildly distressing that he can’t see the bottom.

Next to the pool’s deep end are two lounge chairs, each with a neat folded towel and a bathrobe. Between them, on a small stool, is Russia’s cup of tea, half-drunk. Canada tests it with his fingers; the liquid is cold. Well, Russia _was_ here, but where’s he gone?

There’s a small note under the saucer. It reads, _I will be back soon. In the meantime, please enjoy a quick swim! Sasha would like to meet you, too._

Who is Sasha, wonders Canada.

Something taps his shoulder.

He turns to find a massive, grey-green, shiny, slithery appendage coming out of the water, its tip as high as his neck.

“ _Jesus!!_ ” he gasps. He leaps back, trips over his own feet, and goes sprawling, windmilling his arms ungainly. He loses his balance over the edge of the pool and falls with a great splash. 

Well. He himself has never been known for elegance.

Something wraps around his waist and pulls him under.

He screams, but nobody hears him, and all that happens is the bubbles escape his mouth. There goes his precious air! And to no avail. Whatever it is around his waist tightens and pulls him deeper into the water, until the dark closes over his head and he can’t see his hands in front of his eyes.

It’s small comfort to Canada, knowing that he can’t die, because nations don’t die permanently in circumstances like these, but he also doesn’t fancy drowning. He’s done it once, and it isn’t pretty.

So he tries kicking, with the last of the air in his lungs, and twisting to get out of the grip of whatever it is that’s got him.

It doesn’t help. He tries prying the thing off his waist. It’s cool and smooth, slick to the touch - slightly oily, in fact - and obviously _strong_ because as slippery as it is, nothing happens when he tries to move and its vice-like grip holds fast and true.

And then he feels two more grips encircle his ankles. He imagines they’re similar such objects because it’s simpler to, and the thought of multiple creatures in the pool is more terrifying than one many-limbed creature. Canada kicks his legs. They let him flail but they don’t let go.

Just as the very last of his air runs out, and he begins to give himself over to the sensation of drowning - he prepares himself for the automatic reflex of inhaling whatever he’s in, which will flood his lungs -

\- something claps itself over his mouth firmly, all the way around his head. His hands fly to try and prise it off, ignoring the one around his waist or the two around his ankles.

And then that something presses past his lips, forming a tight seal.

He inhales - 

\- and he finds he can breathe.

What even is this?! Is this part of the creature? It must be - it’s easier to assume there’s only one creature in this pool. Probably the scaly thing that he saw earlier. Is it another such appendage? Canada doesn’t recall seeing any opening on the arm earlier but he supposes one could have been there, camouflaged in the creature’s flesh and hidden from sight.

Maybe it’s the presence of air in his mouth, tasting vaguely and sweetly of musk, that calms him, or maybe it’s a foreign substance the creature secretes, but Canada calms a bit in its grasp. Once he’s got his air back, and he’s a bit more clear-headed, he’ll start thinking up solutions…

Someone turns the lights on.

There are lights around the pool, sconces set in the wall that permit a vague orange glow. Sodium lamps, probably, in glass. From his viewpoint, Canada can’t see anything except for the pool walls. The thing around his face is grey-green and smooth. He looks down at his waist and ankles. It’s definitely the same thing that tapped him on the shoulder.

Slowly, he turns around in the water.

Whatever it is, he can’t identify a face. There’s just arms, an endless sea of grey-green, smooth, hairless, slightly iridescent arms, protruding from the bottom of the pool. He can’t tell how deep the pool is, or gauge how tall the arms must be.

Even though they’ve yet to have done anything to him, he begins to breathe faster through his mouth, the panic returning.

More arms reach for him eagerly. One takes him by the elbow and wraps around it and a few times around his forearm, and pulls that hand off the massive length around the lower half of his face. Another reaches for his newly-freed hand and darts in between his fingers, spreading them apart. It would be comforting if it weren’t so strange. Two more loop their way around his torso.

One of the arms around his ankles moves. It loosens, but before he can kick at it to make it go away, it snakes its way past his shoes and up his pants.

The arm is cool and slick, slithering on him the moment it makes contact with the bare skin of his leg, past his socks.

And then, the creature appears to hum. Or something begins to vibrate, anyway, because a low tingling sensation permeates every part of its flesh that Canada can feel, and it’s rubbing itself on his body, back and forth, on top of his wet clothes, around his exposed ankle, across his bare lips. He gasps.

It likes him. It _really_ likes him.

The creature takes a moment to enjoy itself, but evidently this isn’t enough, because the appendage that the creature has stuck up his pants keeps on moving, slithering up his ankle and past his calf. Canada tries to say, “Hey wait - these don’t stretch -” but a) the creature has an arm over his mouth and b) the creature probably doesn’t speak English.

He watches in vain, hopelessly, as the arm keeps going and his pants around his leg grows tighter and tighter still until he watches it rip up the seam, starting at the knee and splitting down to the bottom.

Judging by the vibration that he feels - now as far north as his thigh - this makes the creature _very_ happy.

It’s not exactly having no effect on Canada, either. The tingling all over his inner thighs, the fact that another arm is creeping up his other pant leg and splits the seams on the other side - his pants are truly done for - the arms separate and take his legs with them, spreading them gently.

He feels exposed; his pant legs shredded, his legs spread wide open, and some _thing_ has its arms all over him, touching him wherever his skin is bare. His heart thuds a mad pace in his chest as a third arm reaches between his legs and finds that there’s more access to him by his waist.

Oh, no. Ohhhh no, this is going precisely where he’d rather it not, and as much as he’d like to admit he’s cool, calm, collected - and not freaking out! - these things are tingling his skin, sliding firmly back and forth with this strange slick substance they expel, massaging him, and _that_ kind of sensation has a measurable, well-known effect on most human beings. In this, Canada is no exception.

At least he’s not freaking out? (Much.)

The button at his fly shoots off between the tentacles, probably lost forever in the depths of the pool, and increasing pressure on the fabric as the arm reaches inside his pants drags the zipper down his fly. The tentacle reaches in farther -

All tingling stops.

The arm inside his pants rubs against his underwear. It rubs over his hip, then scoots lower to his groin, over his clothed erection. This it rubs more firmly through the cotton. Canada can’t help a groan, but this sound is lost inside the arm around his mouth.

It seems confused. Or maybe disappointed.

At any rate, this doesn’t last long and the other two arms around his legs continue, trying to rip every part of his pants off from the leg side. They succeed in this, and before long his pants consist of the reinforced waistband, with no button and unzipped, and ripped cloth ribbons along his thighs.

Unzipped also means his shirt is untucked, which two more tentacles discover presently.

Canada moans again, protesting - and his fingers tighten around the tentacle that has been molesting his hand, trying to convey that this creature should really _stop_ , but every single appendage in contact with him takes absolutely no notice of his complaints.

Instead the arms probe up, slipping up beneath his shirt. They sweep past his belly. It tickles horribly, and by accident he inhales water through his nose.

As he fights to regain air through his make-shift facemask, one arm tenderly nudges his right nipple, and the other makes it past his collar and pushes on the shirt seam.

His buttons rip off all down his front, one by one, and disappear in the water.

Canada’s too busy moaning to notice. The other arm is busy trailing slick all around his nipple, tingling. It seems to like this a lot - every appendage that is wrapped around his skin grows warm, sliding back and forth and vibrating - and Canada is slowly feeling less and less willing to put up a good fight. As far as deaths go, if that’s what this creature wants (it’s difficult to tell), this is a new one.

He relaxes back, arching, letting the appendage toying with his nipple continue as he moans. The creature rips the rest of his shirt off his chest and scoots down the sleeves to tear them off, but it appears confused about what to do with his tie, or that pesky waistband.

 **{praise} good - sasha** says a voice nearby.

Canada turns.

It’s Russia. He’s shirtless and in swimtrunks, and also has one of the creature’s arms around his face. Clearly this is the latest technology in scuba gear. **hear emotions - connected - sasha’s power - discovery - {query} think what?**

 **This - _this thing_ is Sasha?!** Canada thinks. He wonders how it translates to Russia.

Russia looks cross. **not _thing_. sasha - _he_. {demand} politeness! {condition} if polite: then sasha nice.**

Canada can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Hearing? Thinking? Sensing telepathically? Oh, whatever. He’s had it with Russia’s idea of a lab tour. **How is this** _**nice?!**_ he screams.

**sasha - nasty sometimes - trust me. sasha nice now. {promise} sasha like canada.**

The creature puts a tentacle on Canada’s erection again. Yeah, Sasha likes Canada, alright.

 **assistance,** says Russia, which Canada interprets to mean Russia will help _get him out of this_.

Russia swims closer. When he’s close enough to touch, he brushes the tentacles off Canada’s lower body. The tentacles drop away with a single wave of his hand. Somehow, Canada can _feel_ it - Russia touches the arms to direct them, and in turn they transmit his touch through to Canada’s skin, magnifying it, and it’s like Russia is touching Canada. Everywhere. Softly, rubbing him, stroking him…

His eyes slip closed and he goes limp.

Canada _really_ hopes that Russia will just get him out of here, and they can go back to having tea. And not talking ever about that time Canada went wandering in Russia’s little house of horrors and took a dip in the pool with an overgrown octopus that Russia calls Sasha and had to be freed from its clutches while sporting the erection that ate the Arctic because Sasha got a little _friendly_.

But not all of the tentacles let him go.

And as time goes on Canada regains some of his strength to open his eyes again, and there he finds that _Russia_ isn’t exactly letting him go, either.

Russia’s removing what remains of his tattered clothing. Russia’s undoing the tie around what was his shirt collar, with busy shaking fingers. Russia plucks the bow free on his shoelaces and gently removes his shoes, then his socks.

Russia, with a curious look in his eyes, tugs the waistband of his underwear past his hips and pushes them off his legs.

All of these float away out of sight.

Once he’s done, and Canada is fully nude in a pool, suspended by a tentacle around his face, one around his waist, and many more in the vicinity, waiting eagerly, Russia says, **{permission} sasha - good**.

And Russia _watches_ , that dirty jerk, as the arms swoop in and resume their touching.

This time they wrap around Canada more fully. The tentacle that had been playing with his nipple gets back to work, distracting him as two more wrap around his chest and another one slides along his belly and around his sides, tingling and rubbing and sliding. His laughs - he’s ticklish - quickly turn into breathy pants when more tentacles grab his limbs and spread them apart, slithering around them, holding him spread-eagled but delicately, by the wrists and ankles.

One tentacle has found his cock and wraps around the base. It winds its way up, all along his cock, hiding it from view, massaging its slick oily substance from base to tip. Canada groans loudly into the one in his mouth as the tip of the tentacle prods in, nudging against the head of his cock, probing the slit like a tongue.

Another one creeps along the back of his thighs to his ass, worming its way along between the cheeks.

Canada thrashes in the creature’s grasp.

This is nice - every one of the tentacles is vibrating, especially the one on his cock which seems to have enveloped him completely; yes, it's _very_ nice - and sure, he’s grown to enjoy it. But does Sasha not know anything about _asking first?!_ He can’t just go up there!

Canada doesn’t appear to have a choice. The tentacles wrapped around his legs and ankles are stubborn. They hold him steady, not letting him move, not letting him pull his legs together and protect himself, keeping him held wide open for the other one.

Russia is watching all of this with wide, dark, hypnotised eyes. **{condition} if polite: sasha nice,** he reminds.

 **No!!** Canada yells, his shriek muffled by the tentacle in his mouth. **Russia, this is crazy, let me go - I didn’t sign up for this!**

 **Invite - experiment - assistant,** Russia reminds. Then he reaches out and caresses the tentacle wrapped around Canada’s cock. **{want}**

Canada whines. He can’t get used to the way it magnifies touch, and without thinking about it he thrusts, needy and desperate for Russia’s touch through the creature, for more stimulation, thoroughly distracted from the way the other tentacles on his legs have spread him and hold him open…

The tentacle behind him finds his asshole. It rubs across it, oily and slick. Then it pushes in briefly, and starts working itself past his hole in a twisting motion. It keeps vibrating.

He groans helplessly. Now he’s not sure if he’s trying to get away from it, thrusting towards the handful around his cock, or scooting backwards for more of that delicious throbbing in his ass, but it sets up a rhythm that allows him to do both, and before long Canada is rocking his hips back and forth, taking more of the creature inside him.

Russia keeps stroking Canada through the flesh wrapped around him. He watches Canada’s eyes plead, beg - for freedom? for more? for release? Canada’s not sure anymore. He can’t tell which request his whines and cries, muffled by the arm around his face, is transmitted to Russia’s mind.

 **{delight}** thinks Russia. Something about it tells Canada that it’s not a verbalised thought but an idle feeling that he may not even have wanted to transmit but floats through to Canada anyway. **{beauty} {pleasure} {feel} {want} {take} {have}.**

He looks below. Two of the other appendages have wormed their way past the waistband of Russia’s swim suit and judging from the motions both of the tentacles and Russia’s hips, they’re fondling him too.

Russia’s eyes slip closed and he puts his other hand on the tentacles around Canada’s waist. He rubs them, touching them fondly, and as Canada screams, Russia thinks, **{lust} {need}**. He moves his touch up to the tentacle abusing Canada’s nipple and thumbs the back of it so firmly it sends Canada reeling backwards in the creature’s arms.

Russia appears to have forgotten how _strong_ the feeling is when it is transmitted through the creature. Canada gasps for air so hard the arm around his mouth can’t provide it fast enough.

Inside him, the tentacle keeps moving, slowly fucking its way inside his body, rubbing back and forth, and _vibrating_ , matching its rhythm with the slippery pulsating grasp around his cock, egged on by Russia’s hand as Canada fucks them both.

It’s all so much stimulation. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on, or whether he’s even supposed to hold on, and draw it out for as long as possible, or is just expected to come already. **{ecstasy}** , supplies Russia, himself arching into the creature’s grasp. **{demand}** **sasha - now.**

The tentacle reaches the point deep inside him and _curls_ , presciently knowing what to do and where to strike. Canada comes, supported fully by the creature sliding against his skin.

When he opens his eyes, the creature is finishing Russia off. Out of some post-coital stupidity, Canada gets the bright idea to help out and softly touches the bulge between Russia’s legs through Russia’s swimsuit. **{demand} {need} {excitement} {ecstasy} yes yes fuck** flood his brain instantly and Canada watches as Russia comes from both of them, thrashing and arching into the touch. He feels a residual pulse feeding back through their connection. It almost makes him want to do this again sometime.

_Almost._

Russia gently trails the back of his hand along every one of the arms supporting them both. The tentacles retreat and sink back below to the dark depths and Canada feels himself float to the surface. Once his mouth is free, he holds the rest of the breath in his lungs and kicks his way to the surface.

Russia follows soon after. “So! What did you think? That was successful, after today there will be _two_ more. I am eager to see what yours will look like. So far, is only mine.”

Canada glares.

Then he loses his temper. “You jackass!” he says, and pushes Russia by the shoulders. Only in the water would that work and Russia is taken aback. “What the - you don’t think you could’ve warned me about this?!”

“I did warn you,” Russia explains. “It was in the forms. Also, you’re not allowed to tell anybody about Sasha. You know America and his little Area 51! He would want to dissect him. That’s impolite, don’t you think? And Sasha is very nice. So don’t tell!”

He gapes.

“That was also in the forms,” Russia says. “Did you not read them?”

“Th-there were hundreds - nobody _ever_ reads those!”

Russia smiles sheepishly. “Maybe you should start.”

Canada turns and swims back to the edge of the pool before he gives in to his urge to dunk Russia and keep his head there a bit too long.


End file.
